


How Not to Have an Enjoyable Nooner

by codswallop



Series: Not Your Average Threesome 'Verse: John/Lestrade + Sherlock [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Food Sex, Handcuffs, Humor, M/M, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-25
Updated: 2011-03-25
Packaged: 2017-10-17 06:38:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codswallop/pseuds/codswallop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Lestrade just can't get a break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Not to Have an Enjoyable Nooner

_12:00 PM  
INCOMING CALL: JW_

“Hello, you,” Lestrade said, shutting his office door as he picked up the call. “This is unexpected. Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Already? Thought you’d be in Sussex with Sherlock till this afternoon.”

“Took off early. Told Sherlock I’d been called in for an emergency shift at the surgery. Can you come down here?”

“What, right now?”

“Lunch break?”

“I never have lunch breaks. Crime doesn’t take lunch breaks. How about later?”

“Yes, well, the thing is, I’m home _alone_ , for the moment. Sherlock caught the next train, he’s on his way, but we’ll have the place to ourselves for nearly an hour if you come round right now.”

“Oh. Well, then. In that case, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Bring the handcuffs?”

“The...really? Hmm. Make that five minutes.”

Usually, the two of them were able to get sufficient private time by spending several evenings a week at Lestrade’s place. For the past two weeks, though, Lestrade’s sister had been staying with him while her marriage went through a rough patch. John was entirely sympathetic, understanding, and patient with the situation. He was also beginning to feel badly sex-starved.

*

_12:07 PM_  
I know you’re not at the surgery.  
This subterfuge is beneath you, John.  
If you need alone time with L you can always ask.  
SH

John turned off his mobile on the way to answer the door. “That was fast,” he said.

“Well. Sounded rather urgent, when you called.”

“Very urgent. Get over here.” John pulled Lestrade in close by his jacket front.

“God,” Lestrade gasped, when John released him. “How long has it been?”

“Days.” John nosed at the underside of his jaw, inhaling deeply, then shoved Lestrade’s jacket down his shoulders and started in on his shirt buttons. “Weeks? Feels like forever since we’ve been alone.”

“I spent the night here three nights ago!”

“Yeah, with Sherlock downstairs listening in the whole time.”

“So what? Let him listen.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to face him across the breakfast table the next day. He _smirks_. I’m looking forward to being as loud as I want to be for once, today--Mrs. Hudson’s out, too.”

“Hmmm. How loud do you want to be?”

“Make me scream,” John told him. “If you’re up to it.”

“Oh, I’m up to it.” He spun John around, pushed him up against the wall and held him there with the weight of his body pressed all up along him full-length. “Brought the cuffs,” he murmured into John’s ear. “Suppose I should pat you down to start off with. Might as well do this properly.”

“Might as well, yeah. I’ll try not to resist arrest. Wouldn’t want to make you have to use undue force.”

“Only due force, then, got it. Hands on the wall, spread your legs.”

*

Ten minutes later, Lestrade still had his suspect pinned up against the wall, facing him now, minus his clothes. Lestrade was wearing his button-down--only just--and his pants, although John’s hands were inside them, doing something that made his breath come short and his knees buckle.

“Christ, I can’t stand up when you do that. Could we take this upstairs?”

“I thought...maybe Sherlock’s room? His bedframe has those iron bars.”

“He won’t mind?”

“He’s not here. Besides, with what I put up with from him on a daily basis? He definitely owes me. I’ll take care of the sheets after.”

They stumbled into the room, still kissing, and fell onto the bed.

“Full body cavity search time,” Lestrade growled. “Arms up, hold onto the bars.” He’d remembered to grab the handcuffs from his jacket when they moved into the bedroom, and he looped them around the center bar of the headboard, then clicked each cuff into place around John’s wrists.

*

_12:27 PM_  
Having fun yet?  
I advise you to steer clear of my room.  
Crime scene reconstruction on the bed.  
SH

*

Lestrade frowned. “What in the hell is this? It’s _sticky_.”

“Oh, bloody-- Knew I should have put on the light when we came in. It’s all over me. What _is_ it?”

“It’s...I think it’s jam? Is that possible?”

“It’s Sherlock, anything’s possible. God, I’m covered in it. Ugh. Unlock me, I can’t stand being this sticky--maybe we can do this in the shower instead?”

“Got a better idea,” Lestrade said, and licked a patch of it off John’s shoulder. “Mmm. Not bad. Least it’s fresh. I skipped lunch to come here, too.” He moved down to lick jam from John’s ribs, his stomach, his inner thigh.

“That’s--hey, that tickles. Cut it out!”

“Nope, I’m enjoying this. Hold still--”

“Oh, that is _not_ my idea of a proper lubricant. Disgusting. Come back here a minute.”

Lestrade crawled up John’s body and kissed him again, jammily.

“Mmm...yeah. Oh. Hang on, hang on a tick. What flavour is this?”

*

_12:34 PM_  
By the way.  
Is it raspberries you’re allergic to, or strawberries?  
I always forget.  
REPEAT: AVOID MY BEDROOM AT ALL COSTS.  
SH

*

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, John, what do I need to do? You’re not going to go into anaphy-whosis, are you?”

“I don’t think so. The reaction’s not usually that severe. Of course, I don’t usually _bathe_ in the stuff, either. No need to panic, just unlock me and I’ll go take an antihistamine.”

“Right,” Lestrade said. “Not panicking. Key's in my trousers, trousers are...somewhere. Hallway, I think. Sure you’re all right?”

“My tongue’s going numb. You might hurry a bit.”

*

“John. This is bad. I don’t have the key.”

“You what? Oh _christ_.”

“I’m sorry! I left in a rush! Oh god. Should I call 999?”

“No! Just...go find the bottle of Benadryl, it’s in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I think.”

“You think? You’re going all red and swollen around the mouth. John--”

“Go!”

“Fuck!”

*

_12:41 PM_  
It IS strawberry you’re allergic to, isn’t it?  
It was on sale at Sainsbury’s.  
Are you all right?  
SH

_12:43 PM_  
Have you got your phone turned off?  
SH

_12:44 PM_  
Of course you do.  
Bugger.  
SH

*

Lestrade rummaged wildly through the medicine cabinet, finding nothing that looked useful. Ran downstairs again to find John half-conscious, struggling to breathe. Panicking, he dashed back to the hall, grabbed his jacket up from the floor, found his mobile and switched it back on. A text message came in at once.

_12:46 PM_  
EPI-PEN IN TOP RIGHT KITCHEN DRAWER  
SH

He raced to the kitchen so fast he skidded on the floor.

*

Sherlock arrived home at 1:01 and found his flatmate naked, cuffed to his bed and covered in jam, with an epi-pen still stuck in his right thigh.

Breathing, though. So that was all right.

“I take it you didn’t get my second text,” he told Lestrade, who was flopped across the mattress half on top of John, chest heaving, wearing nothing but one sock and a jam-smeared pair of boxers. Sherlock picked up Lestrade’s phone from the floor, flipped it open and showed it to him.

_12:49 PM_  
Spare handcuff key in green jar on my bureau  
Train pulling in, home in 10 min  
Everyone OK?  
SH

“Should have sprung for a hotel,” he advised, fishing out the key and leaning over to unlock John's wrists from his bed.

“I haven’t got the energy to smack you with anything,” John murmured, his eyes still shut. “It’s coming, though. When you least expect it.”

“It is _my_ bed,” Sherlock pointed out. “I’m pretty sure you can’t blame this one on me. In fact, if you’d done the shopping yourself instead of forcing me to--”

Lestrade threw a pillow at him. “I’ve got a pair of handcuffs and a warrant card here,” he said. “I suggest you go find somewhere else to be for a bit longer.”

Sherlock swiped a finger down John’s calf and sucked on it thoughtfully as he backed toward the door. “All right,” he agreed. “I’ll go make toast.”


End file.
